


Summer days on a Winter's night

by theonsfavouritetoy



Series: A Song of Our Own (Until Springtime) [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M, Memories, bed sharing, it's still winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-04 19:55:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17904584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy
Summary: “Remember that one day, it was so hot…”





	Summer days on a Winter's night

**Author's Note:**

> For the ASOIAF Rarepair Week Day 3: Summer // Winter
> 
> Still Winter, still dreary af. Theon is the angstiest person there ever was.

“Do you remember that one time when we went out hunting the great stag Robb had seen? We were all sneaking up on it, Robb had a perfectly clear shot and you suddenly tripped and fell face-first into a puddle. I think even your lord fa-- even Lord Eddard had to hide a smile.”

“The way I remember it, the thing I tripped over was your foot mysteriously in my way.” Jon tries to glare at Theon from his nest of furs. “And the stag was gone.”

Theon scrapes the spoon over the bottom of the bowl to get some more meat. It’s dried mutton, cooked for hours and hours and still tough as leather. A fresh piece of meat would do wonders for Jon’s recovery, for all of them. But there are no stags left. They live from their supplies, and while it is enough there’s a lack of freshness, a lack of green that shows in Jon’s hollow cheeks.

“Remember the day Sansa had gotten it into her head she absolutely had to take her dolls to the hot springs for a bath? And their faces started to dissolve and Sansa freaked out so hard. Arya--”

Jon turns his face away, the slight smile vanishing from his mouth. Theon curses inwardly. Not that. Not her. Not yet. There will be a time to remember Arya. Jon is not ready. She’d been the first he’d asked after when waking up to Theon and Sansa by his bed.

“Or that time when Robb had the brilliant idea to pinch Fat Tom’s secret stash of rum. I can still feel the thrashing I got when your fa-- when Lord Eddard found us all passed out in the broken tower. Of course he was certain it had been my idea.”

“Robb wanted to confess.” Jon’s smile has returned. “I told him not to. Wouldn’t have made your ass less sore, so what would’ve been the point.”

“How very dishonourable of you, Snow,” Theon mutters, then realizes his mistake. “Your grace.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Jon tries to turn and grimaces. “King of what? A frozen wasteland, a heap of rubble, a few dozen freezing people…”

Theon gets up stiffly, limping over to put another log onto the fire. Jon watches him with dark eyes, seeming huge in his thin, pale face. He should be warm enough with all the furs. Theon wraps his own fur tighter around himself, trying to preserve what little warmth his body emits.

“Get in,” Jon says simply as Theon turns back to the bed. “I can’t watch you over there shivering while I’m roasting in here.”

“S not appropriate,” Theon mumbles, casting his gaze down. “Not now that you’re awake. I don’t… I don’t want to be a pain in the neck.”

“You’re not. I thought I made that clear when - just get warm, Theon.”

Theon obeys, trying to suppress the awkward feeling of imposing. There hasn’t been anything to make him feel different, to make him feel safe. Those moments he thinks he remembers… Maybe they only existed in his head.

His hand in Jon’s, his face pressed into Jon’s neck, his breath in his hair, warm and comfortable, a moment of peace before the storm, a moment of feeling secure. Another time, a smile, soft and warm, Jon’s fingers carding through Theon’s hair…

The most treasured moment of them all, a stolen hour in the godswood, away from the Queen and the men and the Starks, and the new truth about Jon himself. How Jon had mourned, the life he’d been living, the man he thought he was, the father he had loved, the mother he’d never known, the name that wasn’t his.

Holding him through this, when no one could understand how it felt to lose your name, your whole sense of who you are. No one but Theon. Forgotten, all the qualms, the insecurity if he’d be welcome, all forgotten in the face of Jon’s sorrow, and Theon had kissed the tears from his face, strong for this one long moment, for once.

Nothing like this now. Now Theon curls up under the furs, relishing the heat from Jon’s body but careful not to touch, not to crowd him. He’s not brave enough to take Jon’s hand again. All he can do is close his eyes and pretend it’s not the end of all things, that Winter will leave and there’ll be a new summer. A new life. And warm them with memories of summers past.

“Remember that one day, it was so hot…”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm over on tumblr (owlsinathens), miserly sifting through my feed, muttering about the distinct lack of greysnow... Come say Hi if you like :)


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